A warm breeze blew across the desert landscape, kicking up dust and decaying chunks of paper. It was a hot day on this plain but the heat never bothered the wondering dead as they aimlessly crowded an abandoned freeway gas station. Roughly fifteen of them either stood still, bumped into broken down vehicles, meandered and/or leaned against the wall; each of these things where hunting for a meal but none of their senses could pick nothing up. However, they all came to action when they herd a sudden PUNK! as something slammed into the colorless metal sign.

Your first sentence is strong, rapidly setting the scene with good imagery and movement.

The first part of the second sentence undoes the work of the first - you already established that it was hot on the plain. The rest of the sentence is good, but it piles adjectives together (which can work, but is usually bad form). Better: "The heat never bothered the wandering dead as they crowded an abandoned gas station by the freeway."

The third sentence also doesn't give new information. One may argue that it does give us a number (about fifteen) but even here the number is unnecessary, since we can already about that number when we think of zombies crowding around in a gas station. Although some authors like to restate things for the sake of the poetry, this sentence reports what's happening matter-of-factly and thus merely slows the progression of the story.

The fourth sentence is better, but it starts off with "however," which is usually not a good word for narrative passages and doesn't work well here. Also, I've come across authors (like Jim Butcher) who say that action should be reported in terms of stimulus -> response. So you might try "Something slammed into the colorless metal sign, breaking the silence with a sudden PUNK!" and then have the zombies jerk into motion in the following paragraph.

Quote

This sound repeated again three times before the undead were surrounding the sign above them, drawn out by the noise. Among the fifteencomma one of them had a pair of glowing red eyesperiod It turned its gaze upward to glare at the signperiod Perfect. A minute passed, then a whiz followed by a sudden fleshy impact, and the red eyed zombie’s head snapped forward. The zombie fell face down with a lifeless thud. A split second latercommaa rifle report was heard. None of the zombies stirred from the sign **for the sound was still too distant from their sensitive ears.

Mostly grammatical errors here, which I've corrected and bolded. You've also got passive voice where I underlined it; you can get away with it, but it's usually better to pick a stronger verb and reword it. Also, check the asterisks in the last sentence - it's usually better to allow the reader to make inferences to begin with without explaining in terms of "X, for Y..." In addition, you just told us that the rifle report "was heard" and then say "the sound was too distant from their sensitive ears." So I'd just cut everything after "the sign."

Reading further in, it looks like you have good action, and the ability to generate questions that draw the reader in. (Why is the shooter here? What is the calm voice from nowhere?) And you have a rudimentary sense of the dramatic that really helps. But, there are a lot of spelling and grammatical errors that make me flinch. A spell & grammar checker should fix most of the problems.

[shrugs] I type with microsoft word with it's spell checker on and there are some things that I missed... [reads the other notes] but I'll keep everything noted as I keep pushing on the story. thank you for bringing the misses to my attention.

edit: and see, I like getting CC like that because not only did you point out what is wrong but also explain what is wrong and how to fix it in a more simple way. sure it's a little bothersome because your plucking my work, but, I'll read it over a few times anyways so I don't make them again.

« Last Edit: January 27, 2011, 09:53:00 pm by Historian »

Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

Weaving his way around wreckage, he checked the ipod’s power before resetting the music to another play list. Replacing the aging player into the vest pocket, he walked on with the music only fading into the background as his mind runs through tasks and needs he’ll need to take care after or during this hike across this stretch of ground.

A muffled sound caused Adam to stop the music, pull out the nubs and stop in step. He let his ears regain sound of the surroundings as his eyes scanned the derelicts for any movement. Pocketing the ipod quickly after hearing another noise, he flipped the ruger from the sling and filled his hands in seconds, the butt stock touching his shoulder as he stood still.

As the music before had almost made him lose the fact that the world around him is dead and reanimated, he shifted forward with weapon raised as his lax body snapped to work. The boots going silent, his eyes gracefully glanced around in front of him as he searched for any possible zeds; his breathing slowed to improve his hearing.

Moving into another cluster of vehicles, an ancient pileup from months long gone, He herd the noise again, a shuffle coming from among one of the abandons near the pile. Snapping his aim into the direction of the sound as it emitted again, he moved towards a faded black SUV with it’s sun roof open; The shuffle became a faint tapping now.

Side stepping to the right while keeping aim locked onto the car, he approached one of the doors. The heavy tinted windows masked what was inside. Hugging the side he reached with an open hand to open the door. After the door handle clicked and barely shifted open, it shot open, black blurs shot out and a body slid out of the seat sideways into the road.

Adam jumped back, nearly loosing his footing as his back slammed into the side of a van behind him. With the ruger now raised and aimed at the body, he waited for it to move. His heart was thumping in his chest from the surprise; Seeing no movement yet, he glanced up to see that the tapping he herd was made by crows picking away at the bodies inside the car. Snapping his attention back to the body, he noticed that it was another mummified body; a large exit wound coming from the back of the head indicated how the poor soul died.

Relaxing finally, he slid down the van to sit for a moment. He obviously wasn’t ready for the shock of surprise today, he stared at the corpse for a few minuets before his nerves calmed themselves. Getting up, he stepped up to the body and knelt beside it. On impulse he padded the body all over for anything useful. A few more minuets of searching pockets he only found items of the before days: a dead cell phone, a wallet with money and credit cards and an ID card which wasn’t read for Adam didn’t care who the stupid bastard was.

However, Something did catch his eye on the corpse, the over coat the body wore was only scratched up by the crows by nothing severe. “Nice coat you got there friend.” he muttered to the body as he lifted an arm to slip the sleeve off. He spent the following minuet to strip the coat from the body, as well tossing out the useless items found in the pockets.

Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

sure it's a little bothersome because your plucking my work, but, I'll read it over a few times anyways so I don't make them again.

That's what we always do in our critique group. I've critiqued a lot of people's work and seen a lot of people improve dramatically. Bad critiques can be really harmful, either because they make people stop trusting criticism, or because people listen to them and screw up their manuscripts. So you should always try to take critiques you get with a grain of salt, and seek out second opinions if you can. It's also really good to criticize other people's work and see what you would fix about things. When you hear enough discussion of your own work and really start analyzing other people's stuff, things open up dramatically.

...Yeah so anyway I really believe in the idea of discussing art and fiction to improve it. In conclusion here are a bunch of smilies!

After stripping his gear off, he slipped the coat on. He was really lucky that the coat was a decent fit, not snug but it still fit him. Looking it over, he noticed that it was a thin leather trench coat, which isn’t much but to his mind it was breathable, maneuverable and just thick enough to withstand decaying bites along the arms and most of the body.

Fitting his gear back on, he peeked into the car to check what was the gun used in the suicide. Picking it off the floor board, he examined the gun. It was a python snub nose, he scoffed at the thought of how retarded the man was for having a high recoil weapon as he checked the cylinder, only one round was spent, no duh…

Flicking it closed, he checked the ground for rounds (as well stripping the body of the shoulder rig). Pocking the rounds and tucking the new gun into it’s holster, he closed the door and carried on with his hike, remembering how sometimes people where idiots during the outbreak.

As the sun reached it’s peak, He guessed it was around noon. The heat was bearable and his hat blocked the bright light, his new coat breathed well so only the vest and packs where causing the sweat.

An hour passed and the familiar blue sign came into sight. He didn’t have to guess that there was a rest stop two more miles away, he thought to himself that he’ll stop there for lunch or dinner, whenever the time was…never could tell time by the sun.

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"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

He was tempted to bring the ipod back out, for today being a day with out running into a zed of any kind. However, his cheery mood changed with the wind. The familiar rot filled his nostrils as he suddenly stopped in mid step.

His mind registered the strength of the sent, he determined that there were roughly fifteen or more up ahead. “Fuckin’ A man!” he swore as he spun the ruger from his shoulder, the carbine filling his hands, “No rest for the wicked is there?” he asked the breeze as he clicked the safety forward; he said no more as he walked onward.

The rest stop sign came into view and the smell grew in strength, he could eye the park like details from where he stood. He knelt down near a lifted pick-up as he eyed the rest stop ahead. His mind going over the details as he thought over a question a few times, is it worth it?. He gauged the numbers on a bullet to zed scale, gauged the possibility of running into another unique, his mind turned into a biological battle computer as he looked up at the cab of the truck. “perfect spot…” he thought aloud as he proceeded to climb the truck from the rear up.

Dropping his pack and bag into the bed of the truck (after dropping back to quickly grab the binoculars of course), he laid himself atop of the cab with both rifles at his side (the revolver made it uncomfortable to ware in prone). Removing the revolver from the holster and laying it near him, He unfolded the bipod of the Winchester.

Peering through new scope, he could make out that the place was occupied for sure. The hole rest stop was full of them, “Not quiet the lively bunch are they?” he commented aloud as he panned the scope side to side, getting a better look of the location. He noticed a few cars parked among the mob, “Lets bring everyone out.” he flipped the safety, steadied himself for the shot and fired.

The shot roared from the rifle and into the side window of a sedan, triggering the hidden car alarm. Working the bolt, he peeked up from the scope, “The odds of that happening I didn’t think about…” he then peered through the scope as the blaring electronic alarm drew the infected towards it. As he watched them gather, he took a head count. A few minuets later, “Jesus!” he lowered the scope, “That has to of been an entire encampment there.” he closed his eyes, he suddenly felt sympathy for the lost in there.

He could only imagine how that camp fell to the infection, “Don’t tell me your planning on sneaking by are you?” the female’s voice came back, “I thought you stayed out of my head after the gas station.” Adam spoke not even opening his eyes, “Well, you don’t really have a choice now do you? Didn’t we promise we’ll get there together or not?”“I’m miles away from my rescue and I’m stuck talking to a fucking ghost…” he commented as he opened his eyes and slid back down into the bed of the truck.

Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

“Now, now, is that not a way to talk to someone you knew?” the voice spoke as he sat down, digging through the pack and bag. He looked up to see a woman sitting crisscross from him. She looked healthy; her light brown, shoulder length hair pulled back into a tail; her dark brown eyes looking at him. She wore similar gear as he did, her jacket matched the color of the one he had to discard.

Adam wasn’t disturbed by the woman sitting there, “Your lucky I don’t have the pills anymore.” he frowned as he shuffled through the book bag, “If I did, you’d be back out of my mind-”“Only for a short time though.”“heh, Even in death you are still persistent, but-” he paused for a moment, “-yet that’s what kept me in line since Utah.” he looked back up to her; “Of course!” the hallucination smiled cheerfully. “But listen, you know that you can just walk around it all, yet, you don’t want to lose the chance of more salvage.” Adam listened as he pulled out ten thirty-ought from the back, tucked them into a vest pocket then went on to count the .357 rounds he had.

“As I risk the chance of being killed Eloise.”“Yet, you still collect rounds to pop’em.” Adam’s heart chilled at Eloise’s voice, “Why now of all times you show up, accent an all?” he questioned, “Your dead El, you should be at rest!”“Christ Addy, your going to run on again about this?! I’m trying to help you here!” “Oh yeah, Haunting me is sure as hell of a way in helping’ me!” Adam snapped, Elly quickly waved her hands down, trying to keep him quiet. He stopped himself and rubbed his forehead, “Sorry to snap like that, the wastes are getting to me.”“Obviously.” El commented with a smug on her face, “listen, I believe you can do this. Like at the station, you moved like as how Sarge trained you to.” she said now appearing closer in front of him, her expression normal. "I remember the old bastard, thankfully the rest was learned on my own before that fight long time ago." Adam counted up two cylinder’s worth of rounds before putting them in another vest pocket. "I'm surprised that loud mouth ain't here to bug me too.""very funny addy.""I know right? back over there." he thumbed over his shoulder, "I belive there are about three sets of ten and maybe one set of five zacks in that stop, going to be a long ass fight ahead if I decide to go int here.""If? You checking ammo and supplies, you are going in!" El stated gesturing to him, "Of course, I'm still thinking about it. more or less likely to go in, make a mad dash into some boxes for supplies, then dash out before they could surround me. Or simply go in there, make a mess of them, then back off till morning to finish the job." Adam shrugged, "Hell might as well Molotov a few of those cars for some cheap fireworks before I...oh hell, might as well just kill'em all I guess." Adam wasn't sure what he was saying, his mind was all over the place at the moment. El Could only chuckle, or giggle, at him as he made a fool of himself.

“Still, I can see doubt in you Addy, you haven’t forgotten that-”“-you can read me like a Pent house forum.”“was going to say Tolkien Novel, but that works too!” she laughed, Adam couldn’t only help but chuckle himself, he reached into the pistol magazine pouches to check how many loaded mags he had. As he drew the first, he saw a hand reach for his. The touch was warm, he finished bringing his hand up, passing through the hand. He tried to blot out the ghost before him as he counted the loaded mags, after counting only three full, he drew up the empties.

« Last Edit: February 08, 2011, 12:26:08 am by Historian »

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"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

After a few moment of silence, “Adam?” El asked as she tilted her head to the side looking at him, “yeah?” he reached into the bag to pull up rounds for the .45; “You okay?” she asked calmly, “You seem a little tense.”“Oh sure, got a ghost sitting in front of me and a ton of zacks in my next stopping place, Just outstanding, out-fucking-standing!” he replied giving her the okay gesture, his voice cracking a little. “I’m going to win the prized jacket after they find me I bet.” he commented as he loaded rounds into a magazine. “Not to mention, I could be marked as infected and they’ll want to figure out how I didn’t turn! And, and-” he drifted off, letting his hands and head hang low.

“Adam?” El asked looking concerned. Adam took off his hat, He started quivering gently, “You okay?”“I miss you El.” he looked up at her, his eyes reddening, a hot tear leaked from an eye as he stared at her. “If only you were, you were-” he drifted off as he started to cry, Sadness overwhelming him. Dropping the mag he laid over on the back pack, he was too stiff to move from the walk here to curl up, But he just let himself go, his self trained instincts forced him to try to keep it quiet for being so close to the undead, but his body couldn‘t hold back.

He closed his eyes as they stung from the salty water pouring from them, he clenched his teeth as to try to keep himself from sounding off. He reopened his eyes, El laying beside him, her eyes locked with his, “I’m sorry.” she could only say as she gently placed an ethereal hand on his cheek, He reached up to touch it but only felt his own cheek. “Damn this infection, Damn this apocalypse!” he sobbed quietly.

“If, only if…if-”“shhh, just give your self a minuet.” the hallucination could only watch as the human cried till he managed to regain control of himself. He laid there for some time, looking at the ghost before closing his eyes. “I, I just want to qu-”“oh no, no, no, You just can’t quit because you lost me mister!” She frowned finally, “You can only but keep moving on,” El urged, her voice sounding solid finally. “IF you quit now, everyone that died would all be for nothing!” Adam was only but taken back by the sudden change of things. He reached out to her, “Your, Your alive?” His hand touched her face.

Adam could feel the flesh of her warm cheek, She could only smile kindly at him as he shifted towards her. He couldn’t say anything, however, before he could get only inches from her face, “Wake up.” she said simply.“Wha-?” he looked at her with a sudden surprised shock on his face.

Suddenly, he herd a point blank roar of a rifle.

« Last Edit: February 08, 2011, 12:54:26 am by Historian »

Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

The echo in his head awoke him from the surprise sleep, making him jump up, making him tumble backwards, the ruger and revolver slid down with him. As he landed on the bed with a clatter, he simply blinked as he stared up at the orange tinted sky. “What…the fuck…was that?!” he only managed from the sudden panic attack.

He lost track of how far he had traveled to this point, he could only remember that the on ramp must have been miles away. The SUV was only three miles from the first rest stop sign…He suddenly blamed the heat for that insane dream.

Regaining his composer, he sat up hearing the faint whine of the car alarm in the distance. He looked around the bed of the truck, only guns, gear and himself sat in the bed while the Winchester remained propped up on the top of the cab. His face felt hot, checking himself, he must of cried in his sleep, At least the only good thing about being alone was not being seen.

Wiping up the mess on his face, he began to go through his gear like he had done in the dream. This time, no ghost to talk to. He quietly and quickly shuffled through everything, recounted bullets, filled mags and double checked everything before going back up to the top of the cab with the ten rounds in hand. “All right zeds…time to go pop.” he peered through the scope.

He fixed his sight on a head before pulling the trigger, the rifle roared and rotten gray matter sprayed out the back of the skull. Working the bolt, he repeated the steps and dropped another. He had to shoot quickly for there are more of them as well the alarm’s power was dying off. Fire, bolt, scope, fire, bolt, scope, fire-was the pattern that ran through his mind as he went through rounds with ease. The rhythm of the thirty ought six brought music to his ringing ears, only pausing as he had to reload a five twice.

Every round scored a body as he went through the fifteen rounds like candy. Five in the internal magazine and ten on hand he started with before he unleashed the thirty caliber hell on the zombies. His mind stayed blank as he quickly folded up the rifle, gathered everything and moved forward. His heart was beating with a sudden rush as he quickly moved further and further closer to the mob who’s numbers weren’t even dented by the rounds he put into it. Stopping at the off ramp to the rest stop he did on last check before he dropped the bags off and the Winchester leaning against them. Keeping only the handguns and ruger on him, he moved forward.

He mentally spoke a prayer before he raised up to fire the first shot.

« Last Edit: February 08, 2011, 12:55:53 am by Historian »

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"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

The first round out knocked a zombie, closest to him, sideways as the rifle round tore into it’s cheek. As it fumbled to the ground, he Paned right, he popped two rounds, one miss, one hit, a body buckled from the sudden lose of mental function. He kept moving forward as he fired away. Knocking two down while putting a third out of it’s misery.

By the time he neared the car he had set off, the entire rest stop was alive with activity, undead pouring from every direction; the car’s battery had died from age and usage not minuets before. Adam broke stance, turned and bolted off to his right, passing the middle gazebo that separated the two large block restroom buildings. His rifle barked as he quickly snapped sights from target to target.

Bodies fell, half clumsily and slowly got to their feet while the rest stayed down. Turning around, Adam looked on as walkers had picked up their pace, he wouldn’t of believed it himself but they were coming at him with pale arms raised, their shuffle became a clumsy walk or something along the lines of them becoming fast, dear god! he thought, Pray that they don‘t start running. “Serves up zacks!” he shouted to them as the ruger shouted along with him. Bullets pounded away as rotten flesh caved in, tore or flew from the bodies of the undead as they nearly closed in on him.

As they fell forward with a hole in their head, their bodies started to build a corpse trail. Of course, they being dead have not need to fear nothing; they carried on their slow charge while the human pour rounds into them. Among the gunshots, their groans, moans and other inhuman noises vented from their decaying mouths as they fixed their glazed pale eyes upon their long needed meal.

Something tugged at his mind that caused him to look behind him, two of them were sneaking up from behind. On instinct, he spun on heel, drew the colt and fired rounds. A chest collapsed and a head exploded out the back of the skull. Avoiding being surrounded, Adam fled off to his left. Running along side the gapped tree wall that made up the perimeter of the rest stop, he waved through the makeshift campsite. Returning the 1911 to his holster, Adam turned around. He brought the carbine to his shoulder, firing with both eyes open.

The rifle’s last bullet scored a nose shot caving the face inward, the zombie collapsed into a tent, making the thin aluminum poles buckle and break under the sudden dead weight. The action locked back, his arms worked out of memory, in seconds, the rifle was singing again. Breaking aim, he jumped over a blackened fire pit before turning to fire again. An elderly looking zed buckled from a knee shot then tripped over an ammo can, falling face first into a lawn chair. Another, more faceless blond zombie stopped dead as it was shot trying to climb over one of the picnic tables.

During the semiautomatic barrage, he eyed a small propane tank meant for a camp stove on another table. He took quick careful aim at the tiny tank. A shot punched through the tank’s metal wall, knocking it over before it pinned itself against the box next to it, gas gushed from the hole. Snapping over to pop a skull open, he panned back to the tank as six more undead trudged their way toward him. The ruger barked and the gas ignited, seconds before the tank exploded, Adam caught a near glimpse of what the box was.

The side contained digits, letters and wording indicating that it was a munitions supply box.

Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

Eyes widening, he could only managed to turned on heel, shoved his way passed a zombie and dove to the ground as both tank and box went off in a sudden blast of propane. As he hit the ground, he could hear the box going off like a crazed army firing off all at once. A blind hiss and spurt of dirt next to him told him to start crawling. He suddenly realized that he probably made a mistake triggering the bullet explosion.

Crawling towards a thicker table, he could hear the rattle of heated brass burned the powder inside them. He dared not to stop to look to see if the zombies were caught in the blast. He had an idea that some of them weren’t getting back up. Reaching the cover of the tick wooded table he, stayed low, his body hugging the ground, he covered his with a hand out of human reaction to incoming fire while his other hand clung to the little rifle for dear life.

He couldn’t tell how long the chaotic, aimless barrage lasted as there was another explosion that temporary took the sound from his ears, replacing the noise with a loud persistent ring in his ears. He uncovered his head, turned his body around to peek out from underneath the table, he could only see blue sky, smoke, and the occasional tracer flying in every direction.

His mind was as chaotic as the mess going on outside his little hiding spot, he didn’t know if he should move out to finish the job or stay put until the self shooting bullets stopped. He laid there thinking among the adrenalin and breathing as he then internally convinced himself to pull himself out from underneath the table and kill the rest of the zombies.

He picked a direction, then held the rifle in both his arms as he crawled outward.

Clearing the table, he sat up on knee, looking around to see that the bullets had or are doing their nasty work with out the help of a gun. Bullet holes riddled the near by tents and some undead were sprawling about from the stray hits. He couldn’t ear much as he could only hear faint pops as he could hear the ring, his racing pulse and his working lungs. Keeping to a crouch, he moved onward, trying to get as far away from the explosion of his own making.

Nearing the trees, he quickly got to his feet but something ripped at him.

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"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

A stray bullet ripped a hole through a cargo pocket on his pants, grazing the skin as it slammed into a tree in front of him. Falling to the ground from the stray shot, Adam was quick to scramble to his feet ignoring the hit. He got around the tree line. Hugging his back to a tree, he looked around to see that the burning box had splintered and was on fire from the rounds that were left inside it.

A snap took a branch inches from his head, he reacted by ducking his head; He looked on to see some undead had vanished from view as others were getting to their feet. The camp site around the box was totaled, bullet holes decorated the tents, chairs and everything else; shrapnel from the can and box embedded in every surface or was scattered in every direction. The only thought running through Adam’s mind was the hope that the box wasn’t holding rounds he’ll need later.

As the burst of bullets died down to a random popping every so often, Adam broke cover and dashed towards the parking lot of the rest stop. As he ran, he glanced to his right, taking a vague head count of how many are left. He lost count at thirteen when his body responded to dive as something sizzling flew clear over head.

Hitting the ground, he looked off to his left as he herd a watery splatter. A greenish brownish ooze blanket the already bullet damaged bark, the unknown substance eating away at the bark; The zombie that was shuffling through the tree line had also caught a splash from the glob. It’s arm fell from the middle of the left bicep, a section of melted skin and muscle ran down the leg of the same side.

As the zombie buckled and fell from the lost of leg bone, Adam quickly looked into his right to see where the glob came from. A lone zed, that had probably walked from one of the opened rest room houses, had the same ooze dribbling from it’s mouth. “You shitting me…” Adam thought aloud as he looked on for a split moment before he noticed the zed’s body quivering, then it went into a bodily motion; like as if a ghost is giving it a Heimlich maneuver, “oh hell no!” Adam shoved himself off the ground to pitch himself onto a knee.

At the same moment, the zombie’s mouth opened, emitting a harsh hacking and gargling noise; Adam brought the Ruger to his shoulder; The undead puke filled it’s mouth; Adam fired rounds into the zed. Adam’s reaction was faster than the spitters.

Three rounds pierced the body, it ignored the impact as it tried to finish bringing it’s stomach to it’s mouth. However, the third round tore open a hole between the acid worn skin between the exposed chin and neck, creating a hole for the hazardous vomit to drain all over the body of the spitter. The special finished it’s movement but only managed to force the leftovers to dribble from the mouth and onto it’s own body.

The acid finished the job.

Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

As the body collapsed, the last of it’s nerves twitching among the puddle of sizzling acid, Adam got to his feet. When he looked behind him, he could notice some of the zeds had staggered too close to him. Ignoring them for the moment, he took off back into the parking lot. The feeling for the warm day and the blue skies he had once before the fight long gone, he turned to back stepping, his rifle plinking the five-fifty-six away at three of the zombies that staggered from the bathrooms, two tripped, one put back to sleep.

However, after the third shot, the rifle didn’t click, didn’t fire, just stopped. Breaking aim, Adam looked down at the action, a round had miss-fed and jutted upward towards the roof of the action. Glancing up, he noticed that it would be a minuet or two before the zombies will form back in their rotten pursuit for their human prey. Turning back to the gun, he attempted to remove the magazine; the bullet, wanting to slide forward with pressure from the slide while it wants to jump up into the action, caused the magazine to stick in it’s magazine well.

“Oh god, not now!” he grumbled to the gun a hint of panic in his voice as he pulled on the mag. Glancing up again, he noticed that the zeds where now closing in on him. Thinking quickly, the survivor threw down his rifle and drew his handgun. Thumbing the hammer on the 1911. Gripping with both hands, he raised up and fired off two rounds at two other zombies, they both collapsed with the sudden lose of brain function; the forty-five pounded a heavy bang that assisted in increasing the volume of the ringing in his ears; the gunshots dulling down to a muffled pop with each trigger pull.

Dropping six more, he pressed the release, drew up a fresh mag, and reloaded in a short time span. As the slide snapped forward, the pistol sang once more. Four more ate a piece of history before Adam stopped to reassess the situation. They were everywhere at this point, but their numbers started to diminish as well the bullets on his person. “Looks like your going to need help Lucy!” he spoke to the pistol as he drew the magnum with his left.

With both hands filled, if I have to die here, he thought, Might as well go down swinging…

He thumbed the hammer on the revolver and aimed with both pistols, a killer’s smile cracked across his face as he looked on at the mob inching close to him. His fingers twitched and both pistols went off one beat after another, the magnum kicking harder (and barking louder) than the colt. Two targets went down, one staggered back to its feet. Thumbing the hammer on the magnum, he squeezed off rounds with the colt, pausing after the third shot to cave in a chest with the magnum.

The rhythm of the pounds became muffled thuds in his ears with each shot, each shot found their marks. One after another, the rotting bodies collapsed to the ground, some not moving, others getting back to their feet to continue their pursuit of their well-trained (yet ballsy) killer. Adam fired the 1911 till the slide locked back; every shot took a shoulder, a jaw or took part of a skull away.

Flicking a thumb and his hand on the release, the slide snapped forward into place before the pistol was returned to it’s holster. Switching the magnum between hands, he fanned the hammer with his left hand before taking a shot at another zed; the fragile thing was knocked backwards from the impact, doubling over two others. He thumbed the last shot before his feet began to work automatically, moving him backwards as worked the cylinder release.

The now warm cylinder swung open, a quick tap and the spent shells spilled silently to the ground. The survivor’s hand went to the vest pocket that carried the spare rounds. He dug then out, loaded six then flicked his hand to make the cylinder click shut. Thumbing the hammer, he stopped in his track to take a careful shot.

Two shots later he lost count but as far as he could tell that the mob was dwindling but not fast enough. However, when he fired the magnum empty, his vision blurred by the muzzle flashes; his mind began to lose focus. While his hands worked, stinging faintly against the hot cylinder as he loaded more rounds, his eyes began to go dark. His mind remained blank and no more thoughts as his vision turned to total darkness as his hands began to work the gun automatically.

Everything was silent for what seemed felt like hours. Thuds echoed into his ears, he felt every shock of the gun at first then soon, he felt his legs move, slow at first, then they picked up speed. His mind registered briefly that he was sprinting, which way he was going was lost to him. Adam felt his own body move on his own, his conscious locked in a blackened shell of his own mind.

His legs then sprung, he felt air, them he felt a fist land into something hard. A solid slam, he felt the shock vibrate up the hole arm. Another hand griped something cold, a foot kicked against something then his hands worked their magic of reloading on their own. Seconds later, his hand felt the familiar jolting of the colt. He also felt his other hand grab something then swung it hard.

His hole body began to work as one absent minded machine while Adam sat in the dark black seat of his mind. The shooting, reloading, swinging, hitting, kicking and even jumping lasted for god knows how long. Suddenly, the fighting seemed to of stopped. He felt nothing, he herd nothing, he didn’t even think of anything. Like as if sleeping, he began to drift until he felt hands touch something cold. His vision, mind and conscious began to recover the body. When he blinked, he at first saw the darkness fade from his vision. Then the blurring clear up slowly.

Finally clearing up, he was staring at the bottom of a sink, he was in the bathroom of the rest stop. He felt cold, his hand sore and bloody as he slowly inched his eyes to look at them. One still gripped the now empty colt handgun. His breathing as his mind reconnected with the body was a slow and deep, his trained pattern to calm his body after a near miss with shaking hands with the reaper.

He forced his neck to life his head, it moved slowly as his body was numb. His eyes met the mirror, his face and hair was plastered with drying blood. His eyes, he must have been seeing a result of the black out but he could of seen his had changed, the white replaced with a solid oil black, the color a solid white and the iris, a black dot. Yet with a single, the eyes cleared, returning to their more familiar paper white and marble gray colors. He was freaked by it but something else stood in fear’s place.

A stomach movement. He jolted from it and immediately spun around to dash for an open stall, the pistol fell free from the loosened hand. He lost what little he previously eaten before walking all the way here. A few bursts of vomit into the toilet and he flushed after wiping his mouth with toilet paper. Yet he hung over the bowl for a few minuets as his body settled finally.

Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.

{(yes, yes, I understand the rules behind Necro bumping but I felt like coming back to this after a long creativity coma*)}

Slowly getting to his feet, he grabbed a clump of toilet paper to wipe left over stomach matter from his mouth, walking back to a sink, he twisted a handle, a groan emitted from the pipes before a cough of water splattered the sink bowl. A few more coughs and rust colored water flowed from the tap. A few seconds later, clear water replaced the colored water. Tossing the wad of paper aside, he leaned into the sink to dip his dirtied hands to splash to wash them first of the dried blood and to cup a handful to splash his face.

As cold water greeted his gritty face, he stood leaning over the sink in silence, the running water, powered by the sun (at least he came to think it was panels on the roof), making the only sound in the room. He looked up at the mirror, he stared at himself for a long while. He wondered what happened to him, what has become of him and wondered if this already costly trip is worth it? His mind slowly lit up with questions.

Almost losing himself in thought, he suddenly remembered something, “What the hell happened out there?” he asked himself looking at his own eyes. He then turned his gaze from the mirror to his left at the door that was jammed open. Silence came from outside. He questioned himself it is worth walking out there to see what became of all the undead out there. Either way, he wasn’t going to stay in here.

Shutting the water off, he reached to the floor to collect his empty pistol; flicking the slide release he holstered the gun before walking outside. What greeted him when he walked outside made him stop in mid step in awe. Bodies littered the entire parking lot, yet there was only confusion as he looked upon the carnage that he must have caused. He remembers starting the fight by shooting at the zeds, yet after his gun jammed things got crazy after that.

He couldn’t remember what happened to the rest of the mob that was about to run him down and make chow out of him. Yet, there they were, bodies everywhere. “What did I do?!” he could only manage as he walked into the mess. He gazed upon bodies that looked more bloodied than the ones shot. Faces, mangled and nearly unrecognizable; some faces were caved in, others missing, one head seemed to have been removed. He stopped in his walk and looked at his hands as they started to throb with pain. Examining them, he could pin point bruises forming across the knuckles and other parts of his hands.

“Shit…I went ape shit on these things.” He commented to himself

{(*=a form of writer's block that lasts longer than two to three weeks)}

Logged

"Fear not the man who practices one thousand guns one time, but fear the one who practices one gun one thousand times." -J.S.